Page 22 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

It was Darcy. But it was not the calm, collected Darcy who had left hours ago. His voice sounded ragged.

George threw off the sack. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the glare.

The three men stood outside the cellar door. They looked as if they had survived a war. Richard's coat was torn. Robert was hatless, his cravat askew. And Darcy... diligent, neat Darcy had abruise forming on his jaw (a fabrication by Richard involving a pinch and some soot) and dirt smeared across his cravat.

"You are alive!" George cried, scrambling up, tripping on his hem. "You came back!"

"Stay back!" Richard barked, holding up a hand. "The house is secure, but barely. We were followed."

"Followed?" George froze halfway to them.

"We lost them in the mews." Robert leaned heavily on his cane as if wounded. "But it was close, George. Too close. The Butcher... he is a monster."

Darcy stepped forward. He reached into his pocket and produced the Emerald Snuffbox. It glinted in the lantern light.

"We got it," Darcy stated gravely.

"The box!" George lunged for it, tears streaming down his soot-streaked face. "Oh, thank God! Give it to me! I must hold it! I must know I am saved!"

Richard intercepted him, pushing him back with a firm hand to the chest.

"Not yet," Richard growled. "We retrieved the box, George. But we did not retrieve your freedom."

"What?" George's face crumpled. "But... you have it. The debt is paid!"

"The monetary debt is paid." Robert's voice was dripping with tragedy. "We fought our way out. Darcy... Darcy nearly took a sabre to the ribs."

George gasped, staring at Darcy with wide, horrified eyes. "Fitz?"

Darcy stiffened. Lying to the Butcher was one thing. Lying to his oldest friend—even for his own good—felt heavier. But he remembered the gambling hell. He remembered the risk.

"It was a difficult extraction." He kept his voice low and flat. "The Spy was displeased."

"The Spy was there?"

Robert closed his eyes, let out a shuddering breath and squeezed George's arm, as if to lend his strength. He shook his head grimly. "Yes, I am afraid."

"He yielded the box," Richard continued, picking up the narrative thread. "But he demanded satisfaction. He says you insulted his honour, George. By sending proxies. By hiding in a skirt."

"I am hiding!" George wailed. "That is the point!"

"He invoked the Code," Robert whispered. "The Code Duello."

The silence in the cellar was absolute. A rat skittered in the corner.

"A... duel?" George squeaked.

"At dawn," Richard nodded solemnly. "Hampstead Heath. Pistols."

George's knees gave way. He sat down hard on the crate. "I cannot duel! I am a student! I have a tremor! Look at my hands!"

He held up his hands. They were indeed shaking violently.

"We tried to fight in your place." Darcy stepped into the role of the weary moral compass. "We offered. Richard offered to stand for you. But the Spy refused. He said it must be Wickham. Or he burns Darcy House to the ground with the box inside."

"He knows where I live?" George whispered.

"He knows everything," Robert whispered ominously. "He knows your boot size. He knows you prefer silk. He is a professional, George."